


complimentary

by PikaCheeka



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Lots of sexual tension, M/M, Word Games, public bathroom sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 06:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8193365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PikaCheeka/pseuds/PikaCheeka
Summary: Trip and Virus have too much to drink and play a game at the bar where they say what they find physically attractive about the other one. It's meaningless. Until suddenly it's not.Includes extra minific at the end.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a pun, I'm sorry. Like "how it is", this fic was originally intended as a part of a greater fic, which is being written horribly out of order so I decided to just post as I go, as each "part" can easily stand alone. As it starts coming together I can put up a list, but please enjoy them as they come! Assume they aren't banging yet when you start this one. Again, thank you to all who kudoes/comment/bookmark my ViTri fics!! I threw in a bonus scene at the end for fun.

Trip rolls his eyes and rests his chin on the bar, hunched over the stool, hands stuffed in his pockets and knees bumping the bottom of the counter. The seats are so high he can easily let his feet rest on the floor, but he prefers it this way, curled around his drink to guard it from the one beside him. The older man beside him has a habit of drinking whatever's near him, regardless of ownership. Not that Trip minds, particularly. Nor does he mind when he asks nosy questions, such as why he had only scowled at the female bartender who has softly complimented him when sliding him his newest drink only moments ago.

He could say many things, such as that she was too young for him to waste time with, or that the drinks here weren't good enough to warrant that kind of effort for free ones, or that he got nothing out of compliments from most humans because they _meant_ nothing from them, but tonight he's already had a fair bit to drink and he's less practical and more sullen than he might otherwise be. He only sighs. "Don't have a nice face."

"Yes, you do."

"Virus..."

"Your jawline is exquisite." There is a slight slur to his voice, low and husky, not quite drunk but rapidly approaching the mark, a mark that requires more alcohol than Trip to get to despite Virus being smaller. Not that it matters. He drinks faster, and they often find themselves drunk at the same time regardless of tolerance.

"Your jaw moves too much," he shoots back.

If Virus catches the passive insult, he doesn’t react. "You have such strong facial lines. That jutting, square jaw and visible cheekbones and nice brow." He swirls his drink before rapidly downing it. "It's a powerful face. Nothing soft or gentle about it. And the way you furrow your brows..."

"You're affectionate tonight."

Virus smiles vacantly and lets the words slip past him. "Say something about me, huh."

"You're..." he shifts his weight and lifts his head to sit up properly. It isn’t the direction he expected this conversation to go. He wrestles for the words, forcing images into syllables that do not encapsulate all he feels. "Uhm, silence. Soft white. Still. Calming. Pure."

"Me. Pure."

Trip shrugs. It might not be right but it's the closest he can reach. He finds language vile, sullying everything it touches.

"You know I'm a slut," and he laughs, pulls the collar of his shirt down and tilts his chin up and to the side. Bruises in the junction of his neck and shoulder, a suck mark in the center of each. 

 _Yes, yes I know that about you._ Virus who rapidly jumped ranks in the Yakuza and found a job for another foreigner in it with suspicious ease. Virus who had a reputation for being surprisingly willing to do nearly anything for the right sum. Virus who stumbled in through the front door at 3 am, drugged and irritable and exhausted but unsatisfied. Virus who always had more cash than him but spent it just as carelessly, laughing that unlike the yen his ass never crashed in market value. "Doesn't matter. It's you."

"Come now, you can do better than that."

He focuses on the older man's eyebrows, too short and after too many years of plucking them, and tries again. "You're soft."

"Soft?" Virus scoffs, grabs his hand in his own and yanks him towards him, and before Trip can process what has happened, his hand is pressed flat against Virus' belly beneath his jacket. Even through his shirt he can feel his abs, the planes of his stomach hard and rippling beneath the expensive fabric. Trip's breath catches in his throat for the barest of moments at the unexpected intimacy. He knows Virus' body well enough by now, living as closely as they do, but the brazenness of the move in public is exhilarating.

"You have nice abs. Small waist and hmm," he sighs, slides his hand around to squeeze Virus' hip. He wants to rip his clothes off and the desire makes his fingers twitch, dig in harder than he intended. "Muscle over this."

"Iliac furrow," Virus all but purrs as he slaps his hand away and picks up the new glass on the counter. He's pleased with himself.

"Whatever. It looks good."

"Yours is better." A sip of his drink that knocks back nearly half of it. “But it’s your pecs that kill me. Mmmmm…” his fingers convulse around the glass as he speaks. “You have such nice tits. Wide and hard and…”

Trip arches an eyebrow, “You like them that much, huh?” He knows Virus likes his muscles, knows because of how obviously he stares at him when he works out, of how he sometimes taps his naked chest in the mornings when he doesn’t bother with a shirt,  but the glazed look in his eyes as he talks about them is unexpected.

He shrugs, waves a hand. "You’ll see someday. What else about me?"

"Your neck's nice."

"Mm. What do you want to do to it?"

"Bite it," Trip answers without hesitation. The familiar buzz of alcohol is settling around him now, slowly dropping his inhibitions, loosening the tongue he rarely knows how to use in public. "From your ear down your jaw and throat. Suck on your collarbone and sink my teeth in. Run my hands down your sides as I do and..."  

"What stops you?"

"It's what to do after a kiss." _And we haven't kissed._

"True," Virus tilts his head back and hunches his shoulders forward, as if thinking. His train of thought is easy to follow, slow, deliberate, soft and teasing as he moves at Trip's pace. "Your lips. You have a habit of pushing your lower lip up and to the side when you smirk. And when you talk like that it's all from the middle of your mouth. You keep the sides closed, purse your lips a lot. Looks thuggish and arrogant. It bespeaks violence..."

Trip is uncertain what he means by this, and suspects Virus has no clue either.

"...and sex." He finishes with a grin. Unlike Trip's, it's full of teeth as he spits out the next several sentences as if they were bullets. "Your bottom lip's a little fat. You have a kissing mouth. Good for oral, I bet."

He's taken aback by the bluntness of the statement, but he knows Virus enough to know when he wants a reaction and when he's simply blurting out whatever is on his mind. The latter this time, so Trip bites his lip and pushes on, not willing to let himself think too deeply about the implications.

"Hands. Your slender, tapered fingers. No calluses, but they're still so hard and sharp." He lights a cigarette and rolls it between his own fingers. Their hands are nothing alike. "You touch me in your sleep sometimes. Just little taps with those fingers."

"Do I?" He doesn't sound surprised as he plucks the light from Trip's hand and inhales deeply.

The younger man shrugs. Virus does strange things in his sleep and he certainly isn't about to reveal the rest. "I can always tell when you just get your nails done."

"Bullshit."

"I can."

"You like these hands touching you?" He tosses the cigarette into an empty glass before Trip can protest.

"Yea." There's no hesitation at all now, and Virus is only too happy to oblige, a hand darting out to rest on Trip's knee. Anyone else would have had their nose broken in an instant, but the violent reflexes remain dormant around the older man.

"Such nice thighs. When you're pissed or bored you flex them, you know. Even in those nasty baggy clothes you always wear, I can tell." Virus hums as those tapered fingers squeeze their way up his inner thigh. Trip notices that he's had his nails done recently, his entire being so focused on that pale hand inching up his leg. "Maybe you do it when you're horny, too. I bet it's nice to be between them, hm? Feel these muscles clench tightly around my..." He doesn't get to finish, because his hand has gone as far up as it can go, resting against the place where his thigh meets his crotch.

Trip bites his lip and groans low in his throat; the intensity in Virus' eyes startles him even more than his hand. His eyes betray more than the younger man's, an earlier prototype, and it's unsettling to see such arousal plastered across his usually serene features, his pure whiteness. _Go further_ , he silently begs, but he isn't going to say a thing, and he merely sucks on the inside of his lower lip, staring him down.

Slowly, deliberately, Virus pokes him with one finger, causes his dick to twitch against the growing tightness of his pants. Not once does he blink, not even when he leans back and grins. Satisfied, while Trip is anything but.

And just like that, the moment passes, both exhaling at the same time before Virus takes another sip of his drink and Trip mutters something under his breath.

"Hm?"

"You have nice thighs, too. Long and thin and tight. I like walking behind you."

"Do you now?" he slides the same finger he had poked Trip with only a moment ago around the rim of his glass.

"You always wear those pants, you know, _tight_ , and I can see your ass bounce."

"I'm not fat."

Trip rolls his eyes and slams his glass on the counter, gesturing for another refill before answering. "Don't have to be to have a perky ass."

"Mmmm..." Virus swivels in his seat to fully face Trip, left hand coyly touching his mouth as he grins, fingers pushing his upper lip aside as he strokes his teeth. It's a disgusting habit, one he began as a child and never properly grew out of. "You notice my ass a lot then?"

"Yes." And before he can stop himself, "It'd be good between your thighs, too. Get a little closer to that ass."

With that comment, Virus' hand is back where it was several minutes before, crawling up Trip's thigh, and the younger man doesn't stop to consider the consequences before mirroring the action. 

"About time." Virus is still grinning, now rubbing his teeth with his right hand, narrow eyes shining and eyebrows raised in amusement. Trip suddenly realizes that neither of them mentioned liking the other's eyes, but before he can process that thought further, Virus' hand slides up and comes to rest on his crotch. He isn't playing anymore. 

Trip flinches, resists the urge to buck into him.

"Let's continue," he purrs, and slowly moving his hand again to squeeze. "What do you like about my dick?" He's very drunk by now, but has the tact to cover his mouth, to hoarsely whisper as he leans in.

He has to close his eyes a moment, inhale slowly through his nose and hold the air behind his teeth, because all he can think about is Virus' hand and how his own dick just jumped beneath those fingers, how his thumb is delicately rubbing circles over his balls, how his index finger is tracing the edge of his erection through his pants, already uncomfortably tight. And then he remembers that he can reciprocate, that his own nails are digging into Virus' thigh now, that Virus is sitting there, patiently waiting for him to reply, and he is able to exhale. He darts his hand forward, grabs the older man more roughly than he intended, and speaks.

"How you just thrust your hips forward and looked startled. Mmm," he sighs as he pushes hard between Virus' legs, as he tries not to lean into the other man's touch. Virus has touched him before, but never in public, never rolled him under his fingers while casually chatting about sex, and it's difficult for him to speak. "Was cute."

"You're huge," is what he says in response, thighs tight and trembling.

"All you have to say about it?"

Virus only flashes another grin and glances meaningfully down as he grinds the heel of his hand into his crotch.

That's when Trip notices the dampness beneath his fingers. He'd been rough, manhandling him while Virus only massaged, but it was clearly what the other man preferred. "Are you dripping already?"

"Probably," he says it calmly, but Trip can see how tight he's holding his shoulders before he abruptly changes the subject. "It's nice how I'm a leftie and you're a rightie. We can both use our dom-"

"Virus." He squeezes his hand in warning, and when the older man abruptly stops talking and hisses, leans into the pressure as hard as he can without sliding off the seat, Trip takes the momentary distraction to slide a finger over his belt.

Virus almost lets him get away with it, almost lets him unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly and get inside his pants, but he stops him at the last moment, crushes his fingers in his free hand and shoots him a meaningful glance. His eyes are glassy and his fingers are unexpectedly cold and hard, damp from the condensation on his drink. He jerks his head towards the corner of the bar, the stairs leading into the basement and the toilets, and something sparks violently in the back of Trip's mind. Instead of responding, he reaches for his wallet with his spare hand, drops a few suspiciously pristine bills onto the bar. Only then does he return the look and nod.

 

\---

 

The older man is on him the moment the door closes, long fingers pressing into his chest, his shoulders, shoving him into the wall in the same motion as he locks the small room. Trip wonders absently how often he's done this, how many times he's been fucked on bar bathroom sinks, how far he's going to take this, and with a quiet humming he leans back to watch, to let Virus do what he pleases. This level of trust would alarm him were it anyone else, but with Virus, everything is unconditional.

They are quiet, and as much as he craves the sound of Virus' voice, the way his tongue curls around words and hangs them in the air around Trip's ears, he is relieved that he has stopped speaking. Because he wants to savor this, the heavy and hesitant breathing, the sounds of belts unbuckling and clothing being pushed aside. There is a sense of urgency to their actions that only comes with arousal, a brutal focusing of the senses that makes his entire world the man before him. He only realizes that the floor is tilting when Virus's leg suddenly turns, pushes him back, rights the order of things in one fluid motion as he presses their naked dicks together and rolls his hips into him. Trip's height advantage is in his torso, with Virus' legs being the longer between the two, if only just, and the angle they find themselves at is one of startling perfection. He wants to say something, to point out that they complement one another, but is unable to break through the fog of alcohol and lust. It's all he can do to breath, to feel the other man's heart pounding violently against his, the pulse echoing in his erection.

"Ever done this before?" Virus finally whispers, hoarse and questioning.

Trip shrugs, fingers twitching as he clings to his hips and pulls him still closer, up and over him as he slides the head of his organ along Virus' underside. He hadn't realized how wet he had been himself. He doesn't know what Virus is referring to because he doesn't know where this is going, but it hardly matters, because this is _Virus_ and any sexual experience he's had with anyone else is nothing compared to this. "Doesn't matter."

"It's just what people ask," he laughs softly as he trails his right index finger slowly up Trip's chest, his throat, before draping his wrist around the back of his neck.  It’s an action somehow more intimate than anything else they have just done.

Trip again doesn't respond, only wraps a hand around their organs and drags upwards. They rapidly fall into a rhythm from there, each with a hand between their bellies, fingers sliding in sweat and precome and tangling together. Virus makes an unexpected amount of noise, soft gasps and moans in Trip's ear that arouse him more than he thought possible. He sounds desperate, surprised and excited and vulnerable all at once, and the force of his thrusts indicate he is already far gone.

"Hey," his voice is low, husky, unnervingly seductive in Trip's ear. "You can bite me."

Trip obeys without questioning, without wondering if Virus has spent the last twenty minutes mulling over his comment at the bar, and he scraps his teeth over the older man's exposed throat, runs his tongue over the hollow just below his jaw before abruptly moving to the side. He bites hard, gnashing his teeth and grinding down. He wants to leave a mark, a mark that will last far longer than the faint bruises leftover from whoever Virus spread his legs for the night before, a mark that he can't hide with the collar of his shirt.

And Virus does three things in response. He jerks his hips and leaks so much that Trip wonders for a moment if he orgasmed. The fingers on the back of Trip's neck twitch violently, involuntarily, nails leaving red marks on his skin. _And he makes a new noise_. An exquisite noise, somewhere between a groan and a yelp, a high-pitched and haggard exhalation that Trip can feel echo in his throat through the lips he still presses to him. Virus' mouth is against his ear, and hearing that breathy sound so close nearly pushes him do something he knows is not a good idea.

The lust is unbearable, so strong Trip closes his eyes against it and holds his breath for a moment before speaking. "Is that the noise you make when you..." He can't finish the question. _Get fucked_. He's never been interested in any the faceless, nameless men Virus lets violate him, but he does lie awake and wonder sometimes, what he looks like when he takes it up the ass, what sounds he makes, what he likes.

"No. I just," he pauses to gasp. "Make noise for you." He sounds as surprised as Trip feels at this revelation, and the younger man wonders if he’s aware of how intertwined their fingers are between them at this moment.

"Oh."

"Right. _Oh_. Bite me again."

It's all Trip can do to obey.

Virus is on his toes, one leg hooked around Trip's calf as he nearly mounts him and makes that noise again, reverberating in his ears as he groans against him. Trip gnashes his teeth to the same tempo as the grind of his hips; he knows how much pressure will draw blood and stops just short of it, uncertain of just how much pain Virus will accept before he gets annoyed, before he ends whatever is happening between them that Trip does not want to end. But even as he mulls over this, wonders if he shouldn't leave such violent bruises, the other man slips away from him, sliding down his torso as he steps back and Trip is left with the vibrancy of his light on his tongue and his dick and nothing more. He wonders if this is what it's like to drown, to have air slip away from you so smoothly you don't realize it's gone until it's too late, and you're left gaping and sucking down darkness.

It takes him a moment of confusion to understand why Virus is suddenly on his knees in front of him, hands running up his thighs and face tilted up to leer at him. He's flushed now, clearly very drunk and very aroused, and Trip can find air again, if only to moan. He's watched Virus touch him before, rubs and handjobs and lazy gropes in front of the TV late at night, but this is new territory, his dick swollen and erect mere centimeters from Virus' face as he strokes him.

"You just put your mouth all over me so I ought to..." he trails off before abruptly changing the thought. "You're bigger than anyone I've ever done this with."

He shifts his weight and says nothing. It's not that he's jealous of the references, but there's no point in commenting on them.

"And bigger than anyone who's ever fucked me," he adds slowly, his eyes unreadable now as he searches Trip's face.

Trip only swallows, resists the urge to grab his head and thrust into his mouth immediately. It takes all of his focus to only watch as he licks him first, tongue darting out to lap over his head and down the underside of his dick before he leans in to mouth his balls. He shouldn't be surprised when Virus deep throats him then, as impatient and as experienced he clearly is, but he is taken aback, and that whiteness engulfing him is all he can see, feel, hear, taste, smell in that moment. _Silence. Soft white. Still. Calming. Pure. Come now, you can do better than that._ But he can't do better than that, and neither can Virus. This is what they are, all they are, and Trip's world is rapidly clarifying in the same way it had the first time he had laid eyes on the other man. He doesn't know what this feeling is but he knows it's all he wants.

Virus touches himself as he sucks him, and there is a roughness and a desperation to his actions that suggest he wouldn't resist a subtle use of force. When Trip slowly curls his fingers into his hair, applies pressure to the back of his head and holds him still as he thrusts into him, he doesn't flinch. If anything, he seems to enjoy the subtle dominance, eyes shuttering closed as he hums and moans around him, picking up the pace as he jerks himself off more frantically and fists the base of Trip's organ. He’s good at what he does. With his free hand Trip wipes the precome and saliva from his face, running his thumb slowly over his lower lip, savoring the sensation of being able to touch his cock and Virus' mouth with a single fingertip. He is distantly aware of his eyes rolling back, of the sound he makes as he exhales. He is finally inside of Virus, if only his mouth, and the revelation is worth more than the sensation.

He jerks Virus' head when he comes, white-knuckled fist twisting through his hair as he rips him back and comes on his face. He catches a glimpse of that pale arch of his throat, smooth and pure and tantalizing, and his member jumps yet again.

The violence of the action startles the older man into coming himself with a soft cry that he bites back immediately, but not before it seeps its way into Trip’s skin and echoes through his body. Trip watches him a moment as he struggles to come down, shuddering and gasping, in awe that again, _again_ , he has made Virus orgasm from something unexpected.

And then Virus laughs. He laughs and he takes off his glasses and rubs the back of his hand over his eyes. He doesn't seem to care about the abruptness, the way Trip manhandled him, the fluids on his face. If anything, he seems satisfied. _Accomplished._ Perhaps it's what he wanted, that roughness, that dominance, and a glimmering in the back of his eyes causes Trip to hope that's what it is before Virus whispers. "Synchronized orgasms, huh."

"Good to know." It comes out before he can question its significance. Something about Virus crouched between his legs, Trip's come on his face and throat, peering up at him with a rare attentiveness, makes him say it. Another thing to add to the list of things they like about one another, he supposes.  They complement one another after all. 

He stands abruptly, running one manicured finger up Trip's torso as he does. "I agree," he nearly purrs as he gently pushes him aside and turns the sink on. "Maybe it means something." 

"You think?"

"You should wash up." But he's still grinning as he says it, as he raises a wet hand and touches Trip's face.

He catches a finger between his lips without thinking, bites down lightly when Virus makes no move to stop him. _I want to envelop you now. But_ he doesn't say it, only sucks absently as Virus strokes his jaw with his thumb.

"You _do_ have a nice face, you know."

 

 

 

 

 

 

End Coda – Eight days later.

 

He's uncertain where the boundary lines are now. After groping one another as often as they have, after chatting about what they find most attractive in the other, after that frantic blowjob in a bar's basement toilet recently... Those boundaries are shifting, falling apart, but he doesn't know when it's appropriate to act, how far to take matters. Thus far they've been lucky, everything falling into place naturally, but sometimes Trip wonders if that can continue without someone finally taking initiative. Trip taps the couch cushion beside Virus a moment, trying to catch his eye. But if Virus cares, he pretends not to, flipping another page in the magazine and shifting his weight to accommodate Trip's bulk on the couch. He's perched in the corner, knees tucked in close and feet curled together. One sock is nearly upside down, the seam twisted in such a way that would cause Trip to stop in the middle of the street to fix it, but Virus has never cared much about that sort of thing. Sometimes Trip wishes he would. He's distracting enough as it is. But just as he's debating mentioning it, Virus suddenly reaches down and straightens it out, not taking his eyes off the magazine and not saying a word, and that's enough for him.

Trip doesn't give him time to react, simply leans over and abruptly kisses him, arm around his shoulders pulling him in and sucking on his lips. When Virus opens his mouth, likely to protest, he shoves his tongue in, licks the roof of his mouth and explores his teeth. He tastes like light and coffee and a supremely comforting chill that emits a soft glow, that sensation that only exists because Virus exists, and Trip inhales him. It's everything he ever felt when standing next to him, intensified and concentrated in each part of his body now touching him, tongue and fingers and the thigh he just kicked.

It lasts for only a few seconds before Virus gets his act together, shoves him back with a straight arm and turns his whole upper body away in that peculiar way of his that maximizes distance as he pushes into the couch's arm behind. A gut reaction left over from their days in a cage. "Don't put your tongue in, that's gross."

"My dick was in there last week."

"That's different," Virus sighs and straightens his glasses. There's a tinge of color on his cheeks that wasn't there a moment ago.

He wonders absently how the older man's brain functions if sucking a man off in a public bathroom is less offensive than a kiss, but he doesn't have time to consider it for long.

"Hey." That same hand holding him at arm's length now pulls him in, and Virus kisses him slowly, with a gentle softness that is somehow cruel, torturous. That same hand now traces a path slowly over Trip's chest, fingers twitching over his pecs until he settles on a nipple, and Trip remembers what he’d said at the bar. He hums and laughs into the younger man's mouth when he first feels him get hard beneath his shirt, but he doesn't break the kiss, and Trip feels himself begin to drown all over again. _You’ll see someday._

When Virus finally leans back, he looks satisfied, smug, his face flushed and his eyes half-closed as he wipes a string of saliva off his chin. "Not bad," he grins, and the younger feels the world around them shift and settle, fade away until there's nothing but the safety of Virus around him.

"Thought it was gross."

"You just slobbered on me at first." He picks up the magazine and lowers his face, cold eyes on Trip over his glasses as he bites his lip and presses a foot against his crotch, hooks a toe under his belt. "Later, I'll teach you how to do it right."

 


End file.
